Zuan scowled at the sight of the grim beacon. "Accursed pox!" He wrapped a length of his turban about his face to cover his mouth and nose. "Be wary," he cautioned, voice muffled through the cloth as he called down from atop Hezzab. "The foul air carries the pest. I suggest you do as I and not breathe it directly. A sachet of herbs and flowers is wise, too."

The merchant's eyes narrowed for a moment. "Some common spices do the trick as well. Sage, bay. I have it on the authority of a healer in Santesto that za'atar can both help prevent infection and, failing that, treat fever." He paused and added, "At the worst, it makes a fine stuffing in borek. And I happen to have several pounds stowed away on Maurban here."

Zuan swatted at Hezzab with a crop. The beast grunted and began to plod forward, Maurban in tow. "I shall make some inquiries, and hopefully a profit. I would not unpack yet, but we may as well cool our heels in the meanwhile." He directed the camels toward a gathering of merchants, hoping to spot a brother priest and maybe a customer.

Nisher Stryne had been uncharacteristically quiet and even almost pleasant to travel with for the last day; so absorbed in scribbling his tome, was he. He had shared a few words with Anquetiti and Inan about them travelling towards Canagadi, and even mentioned the Silent Woman Keep, but only in relation to his missing spellwriter brethren; he did not bother sharing the tale of the possessed woman with them.

When they arrived at Zamorza, he heeded Zuan's warning and wrap a strap of linen around his nostrils and mouth; he had seen plague and disease on the streets, and was not about to suffer it!"Say, Iskander; I recently came to 'aquire' some goods that I have no use for. You seem to, er, know people. Where do you suppose I should look in this ramshackle marketplace for someone who would be willing to take it? Brass armbands, cheap necklaces and the like." The spellwriter held up the previously pilfered bag and shook it - fragile bottle removed, of course. He hadn't told the group where he came by the items and he had tried to hide them as best he could, but he was sure they could guess easily enough where they were from.

"And Zuan!" Nisher smiled widely at the trade priest, "I am sure you know hacks from genuine. knowledgable Merchants. Who in here would you suppose could tell me some more about my mystery bottle? Nish raised his other hand to reveal a fragile porcelain jug, stoppered and wrapped about in cloth. "Or do YOU know what it is, perhaps? It looks like it might be worth something..."

OOC: Nisher seeks to sell his illegitimately aquired goods, and either have Zuan identify and appraise his bottle, or find someone in here who can. (He hasn't yet opened the jug, but if he can't find anyone who knows anything about it he will, to sniff it's contents)

Anquetiti was characteristically merry and as usual pleasant to travel with. Truth was, she had come to relish the road winding into the distance - it always promised a fresh start, another chance, and some rest and safety at its end. Until the time came to choose another road once more.She hunted hare, she cooked, she juggled in the saddle, and filled the occasional silence with anecdotes from her travels......how half the city guard was after her for stealing the fish the vizier would have for lunch......how she posed as bandit in the outfit of Rafiq the Red to steal his hair......how she led the witches after the witch hunt of Ragusa out as a slave caravan..."...and they live happily from that day onwards. Only on occasion, they have to abduct men for dark, naughty things!" she posed with hands like claws and a theatrically evil leer, teeth bared, directed at Saano.

Other than that, she asked unobtrusively and listened to what the fellowship would share about themselves. Anquetiti was a great listener, always interested in what they had to say.When they camped near a river, she also chose her place to bathe 'unwisely' enough to be visible if anyone cared to look. It usually did not hurt to hint at the fact that you were a theoretically eligible female.

***

Arrived at the market, she borrowed a pack of za'atar to place over her mouth, and covered it with head cloth.A face mask that protects against plaque? Talk about two birds with one stone!

She then went on to pilfer things that might prove useful - whether jewelry, coin, or other things she could steal, conceal and carry. The pattern was easy, and so often rehearsed: dull a merchant's senses with a quick hex, levitate something unguarded into your waiting grasp where none could see, be innocuous and gone long before they notice. Rinse, repeat, and disguise yourself with magic behind the next corner if anyone manages to spot you.OOC: spend some time stealing stuff like the magpie she is, until a) full b) time to re-join her fellows has come c) spotted and forced to escape and use 'A Thousand Faces'

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

Zuan tugged on Hezzab's bridle to turn the animal around. He reached down to take the jug from Nisher. As he turned it in the sunlight, he raised a questioning eyebrow. "I hope you found this fairly, and it was not pilfered," he warned. "If I find otherwise, I am duty-bound to take your ill-gotten goods to the rightful authorities. The Divine Broker does not abide theft, and neither do I."

"Now then," he said, raising the alabaster toward the sun and examining it with a keen eye. "What have you here...?"

Iskander appreciated the levity that Anquetiti brought, lifting the pall that the birds had brought, though he had reservations about her motives. Her stories were certainly entertaining, as was her ... modesty....

Iskander accepted the offered spice, as even should it hold no power over plague, anything that masked the smell of the city was welcome.

"Ah Nish, indeed I do know a few people, here and there, though here is a question - I have not been this far north myself, but there could easily be someone I know here. It will take a little time to get my bearings."....

Iskander grinned to himself at Zuan's reaction. Thieves and Merchants hated each other - neither could abide competition. At that thought, he watched Anquetiti head out on what seemed to be a 'shopping' trip.

This, he thought, should be an interesting visit.

He also headed into the assembly of merchants, to see what they had, and to scan for familiar faces. "Tagu, lets see if we can find a drink."

Having never seen its kind before, the porcelain jug's value befuddled Zuan. This irritated the trade-priest, though he didn't show it. He handed the vessel back to a smirking Nisher...

----------

Zuan Coursi's fortunes improved as his tired camels waddled toward a ring of bickering merchants drinking heavily-spiced tea. He met a few distant acquaintances in fact, a few men even from Abodroc, and sought profit and conversation with them deep into the evening, staining his teeth happily with their strong tea. Hours later he emerged from the throngs his purse weighed down with coin. By his count he made a tidy profit of seventy rindods. Not bad for some haggling in a make-shift town outside the city proper. He not only made some profit but he succeeded in unburdening his camels, Hezzab and Maurban, and the maudlin pair turned downright euphoric once the many sacks of spice and quite a few rugs, were removed from their backs. Zuan in turn acquired something beside the coin. A deed, proofed and confirmed by a passing Canagadi trade-minister during the transaction, to a small patch of land in Canagadi country! A tiny stretch of alpine meadow, overgrown with giant lobelias, where cloves grew in abundance. The seller, a skeletal-thin merchant, explained that he was moving his enterprise and family south, and could no longer abide the long travel to the northern spice-land.

Happily riding back along the dusty thoroughfare, Zuan even found a small shrine to the Divine Broker, erected quite recently no doubt by some like-minded travelers. The small pavilion was empty except for a serious looking-guard with scimitar, his arms crossed across his wide chest, standing over a makeshift symbolic "coffer". The trade-priests knew their god would take their offerings of profit, His Fee, yet someone had to guard whatever was placed inside, until such time that he did.

----------

Find a drink they did. And a cock fight. The venerable yet still ferocious "Capitan" was taking on his arch rival, a fiery bird named "Mesmero", and a large flash-mob gathered to watch the roosters do battle, money exchanging hands. Iskander almost immediately spotted Folca, a minor street tough with aspirations at being a crime-lord. Iskander had once rounded up the fellow in a previous life for the law, and on another occasion fought along-side him in a gang-war in Zola-Garsa. Iskander did not care what brought Folca here, he didn't like the man at all, but he managed a smile when he greeted him. Tagu merely followed Iskander wordlessly, and scanned the crowds for possible trouble.

The general talk was of the Plague in Zamorza and of the northern rebels--followers of the One New God--and how they had become bolder and bolder raiding the "peaceful, civilized, and illuminated" cities of the Ban-Ral-Sab.

(ooc: val, any specific tidbits of information you want to know? About anything at all? Folca will try to answer.)

Minutes later Iskander managed to unload Nisher's (Bulvan's) trinkets on Folca. Nisher had actually caught up to the trio and gladly accepted the forty rindods Iskander gave him for his sack. Folca had paid forty five, yet the price of doing business on the streets, explained Iskander to the spellwriter...

They were on their way back as well, Iskander, Tagu, and Nisher when Iskander slowed beside a dagger display of some fine quality. As Iskander and Tagu examined blades and discussed their virtues, Nisher idled---until he saw a hunched figure crouched down between stalls in the dust, beside a gnarled dwarf-palm. The figure was shivering and the man's eyes were darting spastically. Limp hair was plastered to his pale flesh, and his hands were quivering uncontrollably. As Nisher peered intently, he became sure. It was Alnab Rugen, a fellow spellwriter Nisher had grown up with on the streets back home in the far north. They had joined the spellwriters together, but Alnab had left for the south--the "wondrous cities of the Ban-Ral-Sab" he had said--long before Nisher himslef began traveling the lands south of the great mountains. Now here he was, looking as if he was a slave to some sinister narcotic and fearing for his life.

Beside him on the ground was his book. The tome every spellwriter carried.

----------

Anquetiti flitted about amidst the humans, little did they know...

How can they see this coming? How could they stop it. This gorgeous dew-drop of larceny and mischief. This magnanimous magpie of multi-talents. They couldn't. And they didn't. Anquetiti successfully pilfered several pockets, purses, and stalls, though as luck would have it, nothing she stole gave her joy. It all amounted to knick-knacks and semi-valuable trinkets worth a few coins sure (15 rindods worth), but nothing to stir her passion. She was almost caught once, when she reached in the wrong pocket and discovered that the pocket's owner had for some reason been *extremely* excited at that very moment. Feeling the tug, he turned to her his eyes wide saucers, and though she smiled, he opened his mouth to shout something--her magic had saved her there--and the man and his body-guard lost her in the crowd.

On her way back to rejoin her interesting new companions, she nearly stumbled upon a man watching a cock fight, who happened to have a sack on him, with what seemed to be something valuable. This would proof too easy in fact, and minutes later Anquetiti was peering inside the sack and smiling at the slightly more valuable trinkets than she had previously seen. (50 gp/rindods worth).

----------

Saano stalked the stalls lost in his own and his sister's thoughts. He was getting anxious and cared little for this layover. He was anxious to do what he had set out to, that was--to save some poor woman from a demonic infestation. His order had been paid. Now it had to be done. Ebellos' true motives mattered little now, and their was a soul to save. As he strolled he stopped momentarily at a book-seller's stall and gazed upon the titles, then sighed and returned to his companions.----------Inan had quietly made his way to the very walls of Zamorza, only to see guards sporting grimaces staring down from the ramparts. A plague had apparently struck the Wicked City. With Plagues came certain creatures he thought absentmindedly and fingered his amulet. So, the Dervishes will not meet within these walls he concluded and returned to the group that had rescued him from the hellish Moadi cave. He would go with them for now. They would need him. He did not quite understand how he knew that, but somehow he did.

(ooc: Let me know if you guys (Scras and CM) want to do anything specific, buy, sell, other, or anything at all really.)

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Inan was a holy man, and in the desert lands, the difference between a holy man and a beggar was a matter of perspective. While the others of this strange and generous band went about their business in the Wicked City, he found a place near where the livestock of the merchants was being kept. In the fashion of the holy men of the south he unrolled a ratty tattered prayer mat and knelt on it near an intersection of avenues through the city. He began to preach the sacred words of the Book of Seven Flames, alternating with songs he knew. Some were hymns to the gods, others were wards against evil spirits. He swayed, and let his eyes roll back in his head, all the things that were expected from a sun-maddened hermit.

Those who were kind enough to give him favors of coins, trinkets or other useless odds and ends (for who knows the needs of a holy man?) he would offer blessings (the lower case kind) and if passers by went too long without a coin being dropped or some other oddment, he would begin his orations of the Blessings of Djinn, and how they would scourge the cities of man, and that the Wicked City was naught but the most fleeting amusement to the most virtuous of the devils of the desert.

"Aye, keep your cut; I know well the challenge of finding the balance of a merchant who holds his tongue tight, yet keeps a loose purse." The spellwriter accepted the rindods and secreted them in hidden folds within his garments. As the fixer and his accomplice perused the stalls, studing a dagger, Nish let his mind and his eyes wander. He spotted an old friend.

Nisher stryne stroked his chin thoughtfully, reminding himself off-handedly that it was past time for a shave; his stubble was turning into a raggedy beard which did not help his already meagre appearance. His main focus though, was the man crouched between the stalls to the side. Yes, that was Alnab alright. Nish used to call him 'Nab' for short, because he always used to manage to nab the best apples from the fruit stall while the vendor wasn't looking. He hadn't seen Nab for oh... coming on four years now? Could it already be that long? Well, his fortunes 'aint improved, have they? Looks like he never found the glory he was looking for.A smirk plastered across Nisher's creased face and he leant in to Iskander, "Don't let the priest convince you all to leave without me, hmn?" With that, he walked away from the two, making his way up to Alnab and crouching beside him, taking advantage of the dwarf palm as he was. "Well." Nish said shortly, stopping as he regarded his old companion. "I guess you won't be making good on that gold you owe me." Nisher sighed and plopped down to a full seated position. "What have you done to yourself, Alnab? You were the one who actually showed promise in that d**ned academy! I have a feeling you know where the Abodroci spellwriters have run off to..."Nish left the words at that, awaiting the man's reply. Meanwhile, he eyed the man's arcane tome hungrily. Oh, if only he could take it - but the book would burn him; the books are like a sentient beast, able to think and rationalize for themselves. And they know their masters well; any unwelcome disturbance would find the perpetrator lashed at with unfocussed, raw magical energy.

Aah, but if the owner were to die... the book would relenquish all it's knowledge. Nisher eyed his old friend - he seemed sickly and addled; he probably wouldn't need much aid to send him on to the next world. The world is cutthroat, indeed, but is Nisher Stryne a murderer? he thought to himself... No. Not Alnab Rugen's murderer in any case. I'm not that far gone yet.

Iskander's rumors: The "civil paradise" that is the Ban-Ral-Sab Sultanate is under a lot more pressure lately than the southern city-states care to admit or acknowledge. The northern tribes and satraps have heeded a new call for reconquest, and raids and attacks on the walled city-states have picked up in intensity. The "New God" of the northerners is making a comeback of sorts, and to Iskander specifically, the message is clear. War is coming. In fact, he hears that Zamorza is not "closed" due to just the plague, but there is whispers of an imminent attack by a northern contingent army headed by some charismatic new warlord, known only as "A'Kel-Sidd", or "The Brave One."

Anquetiti's rumors: Witch-hunts have returned to the lands The northerners especially have decreed a new Inquisition against the supernatural. Magic wielders, those of mixed or tainted blood like Anquetiti, djinn summoners, diabolists, hedge-witch mid-wives, mystics, the lame--everyone really--who don't cast aside their "iniquity" in the eyes of the New Church and see the clear path of the "New God" have recently been persecuted. Here near Zamorza, the northernmost of the Ban-Ral-Sab's illuminated city-states, the coming dangers are more apparent than in Abodroc and the southern cities. Witch-hunters scour the lands...

If Alnab Rugen recognized his old friend Nisher or understood his words, he did not show it. Instead he moans then opens his mouth revealing a missing tongue, his whole body quivering with some unnatural psychoses or fear. He grabs his book at that moment and scribbles something on a blank page, raising it to show Nisher with saucer-wide, tearing eyes. He then jumps up suddenly and begins gesticulating wildly, jumping up and down and making cow-like noises with his mouth. He continues shaking, his whole demeanor unexplainable. The words on the page are written in some language Nisher has never seen. If it is a language at all. The writing looks like the ravings of a madman.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Nisher was perplexed by his former friend's alien actions. Perhaps he was touched with whatever plague had spread in the city, but why the lost tongue? And those written scribblings. What did it all mean? Taking a stand once more, Nisher took a half step back, worried about contracting some illness. "Nab... Maybe I should take your book from you. You don't seem to be in a condition to continue your works." Nisher stryne held out his hand.

Nish will try and convince alnan to hand over his book willingly. If this is not possible, then he will copy the writings alnab wrote into his own book for later reference.

Alnab shuddered as Nisher attempted to make sense of the written gibberish. As Nisher spoke to him, Alnab simply stared in a random direction, his lips moving but no sounds coming out of his ruined mouth. With a shake of his head, Nisher instead begins to quickly copy that which the mad spellwriter had scrawled. As he does this, Alnab begins to moan again, then wail, then suddenly rips the tome from Nisher's grasp, and takes off half-running, half-stumbling down the dusty thoroughfare, in the process knocking down the dagger stall where Iskander and Tagu had been idling. A few mounted city-guard (yes, the city-outside-the-wall by now had its own small police force as well), looked in Nisher's direction but then rode on...

---------

Anquetiti meanwhile had met up with someone who could only be described as an interested suitor, and who in this case happened to be a priest of the New God. A young earnest man, he had cornered Anquetiti, offering to buy her food and libation, no doubt smitten by her sultry looks, despite his vocation. She allowed him to entertain her briefly. The young man went on and on, about the New God, and how in the north tribes were uniting, armies were mobilizing and how soon, the New God would spread his "love" south and reclaim the lands of the Sultanates for the northern races. She was stifling yawns throughout, until Anquetiti casually mentioned that she was possibly headed north to Canagadi, and that spurned the man to speak more and more. He claimed that some great evil had also come to the lands of the north, and that it was whispered demons, and even the Fallen, the Nephil themselves(!) walked the northern lands, as if in anticipation of a Great War among mankind. And Zamorza's plague, surely this was the New God's doing, showing wicked Zamorza, its days were numbered. He finished with a quick story, about how he had briefly stopped at a convent known as Silent Woman Keep, on his sojourn south, and would not even stay the night, for the place was "infested" with evil. He wrapped up his tale by asking Anquetiti if she cared to join him in one of the many erected pavilion-inns of the city-outside, but it was then she was gone in a flash, leaving the young man flustered in his infatuation.

Hours later, the companions of serendipity had re-gathered as the sun slowly began to set. They had to decide whether or not they would pay to stay in one of the pavilions taking in travelers for the night, or head out, a mere six hours ride from Canagadi, and perhaps a proper inn, without fear of plague contamination.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

AnquetitiShe shared a hesitant embrace with the priest, as a maiden being wooed, and could feel her way into his robes, to his faith's symbol. A mischievous smile danced across her lips - what better way to punish a bigot? As their eyes danced across the other's face looking for signs of affection and passion before the first kiss, she recoiled then. There was no sense in having a crazed witch hunter, or whatever lunatics these 'men of the One God' were, on your tail.'Men of the One God... must be an awfully horny god' she thought to herself, and left the youngling to his faithful musings, putting on the face of a faithful spouse or well-behaved daughter who just now remembered her duties."I... cannot" she lowered her gaze, and dashed off, leaving the symbol where it was, in the priest's possession. If she ever deprived him of it, it would be by making him throw it away.

She then rejoined her Companions of Serendipity, Nisher first: "Watch out, Writer, there's witch hunters around, and they don't appreciate a good book as much as you do", then she went to warn Inan, sharing a coin of her loot in his beggar's bowl, pretending to listen to the prayer: "Witch hunters are around, friend, I would not offer them a feast for their zealous eyes."

Then, she rejoined Zuan, who eyed her suspiciously. "I believe your dealings were fruitful, friend?" she smiled, the stolen goods warming her pockets. "I heard a little love bird, who spoke of the temple you seek, apparently it's filled with evil. Though, given the bird's feathers, said evil may well be loose manners."

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

Stepping back from the chaos, Iskander said to Tagu, "I really didn't think Nish's presence was _that_ terrible."

He had thought about snagging dagger in the chaos, but only entertained it a moment. Instead, he moved onto another stall, looking for some wine or stronger spirits.

----------------------

Iskander came back slightly tipsy. He had purchased a number of spirits, including a clay bottle with liquor strong enough to use as lamp fuel, and definitely strong enough to purge one's stomach of any number of pestilences. He was not drunk though - he long ago learned the value of moderation, though that lesson was .. painful.

He saw Anquetiti return, carrying with her the air of the successful hunt.

Witch hunters? He knew the type. People who wore their ignorance as a badge of pride. Zealots generally worse then what they hunted. Some of the thugs he grew up with found their traits fit in well with that group.

Nish had best keep a low profile. The mute he spooked was probably visited by such folks in the past.

When talk came to accommodations, Iskander spoke - "The communal pavilions, while close, do not seem very appealing to me. Too many people, too close. I'd sooner take my rest under the stars."

"My gut tells me that there is as much peril in the walls of this city as there was in the lair of the Moadi birds." Inan spoke, "But I have always preferred the company of the stars to the company of walls and ceilings. A lean to or a stone ledge for a bit of shelter and the night will care for the rest."

He had taken his offerings, impressive for such a city, part of the reason he was disquieted. Happy people mock the existence of the djinn in the deep desert, and pay little heed to the rambling oration of the sun maddened holy men. He was accustomed to getting bits of copper, tin, buttons and other detritus. But here he found gold. He held the gold coins close to his body, feeling the spirit of the Djinn stir within him. The djinn had many lusts, some different, but almost all craved the precious metal of the sun.

"The communal pavilions, while close, do not seem very appealing to me. Too many people, too close. I'd sooner take my rest under the stars."

Quote

"I certainly would prefer to rest away from... this. Do we have all we need?" She did not like to hang around Zamorza. Plague drew evil spirits and demons like a corpse draws flies

Quote

"Let us shake the sand from our feet and leave this place."

Indeed.

(ooc: Just a reminder, you can purchase anything you like more or less, and add it to your equipment lists without IC'ing it before I whisk you away to Canagadi. This seems as good a point as any to end Chapter 2, and begin Chapter 3. So, we will do so.)

The companions gathered up their supplies and mounts and proceeded north leaving the dusty and dangerous city-outisde-the-walls behind. When next we catch up with them, we find them in Canagadi proper, a small, loosely administered country (province really), tucked away between mountains. The clime is strange, as it is warmer here than a place this far north would seem to be, and hence an interesting array of wildlife (mostly flora) proliferates. The companions travel uneventfully from Zamorza to Canagadi, and deep in the night, find a rural inn, soon after crossing the invisible border. After a restful sleep, the companions gather to break their fast in the taproom, and make their plans...the innkeep informs them that the place they seek, Silent Woman Keep, is only a few hours ride through the mountain passes, but why would you want to go to that accursed place, he offers.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p